Sharehouse
by Dussia
Summary: Sitcom episodes translated from Russian. Two convinced bachelors are sharing a London apartment constantly flooded with guests. Mostly slash, but not only.
1. Default Chapter

Sharehouse. A sitcom.

by Daria (aka Dussia etc.))

_Translated from Russian by the author_

_Beta: Tango_

_1. Actually it's a shared apartment, but Sharehouse sounds more compact. I would like to thank Tango for this suggestion._

_2. The fact that this fic was to some extent influenced by such sitcoms as Friends, Will&Grace, or Golden Girls for all I care, is obvious. The main thing is: I never watch them, I just used (& misused) their model. What really drove me to write it was: 1. A dream of the two incompatible (for me) HP-characters sharing an apartment, yet staying "just friends"; 2. My growing disappointment with the romanticization of love-ships in HP-fandom (and slash-ships in particular). Personally, I do not believe in serious passion between let's say HP/DM – and the rest of them – because in all those tears and broken hearts, Rowling's irony is missing, and that's really sad. So in this sitcom (actually it's almost a screenplay), I try not to confine our heroes to specific pairings in the first place._

_3. Well, no, in the first place, it's actually just innocent fun._

_Disclaimer: Characters belong to JKR – they are OOC, but I still tried to retain their usual idiosyncrasies. Songs, etc. belong to their owners. ))_

_Pairing: see above. Anything goes, slash too – "I see no difference" (c ) Snape_

_Rating: PG 13 – all can be broadcast before 8pm _

_Warning: there may be slight spoilers to OoPh, because this all takes place many years after HP's school years. (Don't ask me how many – I haven't a clue)._

**0. Open House. (The pilot/Intro.)**

A large, fairly well-furnished room with a view of London out of the windows (something recognizable; say, the Tower). The walls are lined with old portraits and menacing-looking artifacts that resemble torture devices; books are scattered over the upholstered couches, more books are stacked on shelves ceiling-high. There's a fireplace, arm-chairs, side tables, cushions on the carpet… All of this is the living-room, which flows into a big modern kitchen. The kitchen is dominated by an enormous counter right in the middle, on which rests a burner with an antique cast-iron cauldron.

Apart from a corridor leading inside the apartment, there are three doors – one of which is obviously the front entrance, because at this very moment, a rattling of keys can be heard behind it – and it is a very angry rattling. It sounds like somebody is trying to turn the key, and the key won't budge. There follows a muffled curse and then a loud: "Alohomora!". The door shudders like after a heavy kick, but does not surrender. "Alohomora, you f... bloody... errr… (reciting rhythmically) Please would you be so kind as to open yourself, and I'll never call you names starting with F." The door opens smoothly and in comes Prof. Snape, wearing one of his most vinegary facial expressions. He irritably waves away the immediate canned squeals and catcalls of the supposed audience.

Without taking off his soaked cloak, he strides over to the telephone, swishing his equally soaked hair. He picks up the receiver with barely concealed disgust and taps the buttons.

"Yes, it's Severus Snape here, Periwinkle Corner 123-2, urgent front door replacement. Yes, it's where you've already... I'm not interested in how many times you've already... Friday! No, that won't... How about right now? Of course. Yes, I'm waiting. Quite right, there is no number, just push the "Snape/Granger" button at the entrance... The same to you."

He throws down the receiver with a smirk, and the telephone immediately begins to ring. The tune is Madonna's "Material Girl." Instead of picking up the phone, he practically makes a face at it, takes better hold of a half-soaked paper bag under his arm and goes into the kitchen. There, he takes off his cloak and, wrinkling his nose, begins unpacking the groceries. They are: a half-crushed carton of milk, two bottles of whisky (firewhisky and Ballentine), assorted apples, tomatoes, avocados, strawberries – all squashed . The most hopelessly damaged items are sent straight to the bin with a snap of his fingers. Cracked eggs from the bottom attempt to follow the strawberries voluntarily, but Snape heads them off; the eggs self-break into a large mug and are joined by milk and brandy. A newly-arrived whisk starts to beat them enthusiastically.

Still sorting the groceries, Snape with his free hand adds spices and sugar, then gets rid of what remains of the mess, and takes the mug over to the nearest couch. All through this the phone had been ringing; finally it utters a loud click, and after a "beep", we hear:

"Hello, you've dialed Hermione Granger's number. Apparently I'm not home at the moment (Snape mockingly mouths the recorded words in time with the machine), please leave your message after the tone, and don't forget to mention the time and date of your call."

"Um… was that the tone?' They said 'leave your message after the tone'… Who said? Dunno, sounds like Hermie, but the voice was kinda strange… Ha, Hermie's talking but she says she's not home!"

(Snape rolls his eyes, but clearly enjoys what he hears.)

"Well, um… Hermie, you know…we... oh, right, sorry, it's shortly before eight... p.m. Well, we are here for a couple of days... and seeing as my folks are in Romania, we thought… we should meet, right? And then… well.. your place is pretty roomy, you know, so we thought…"

"Anyway, Hermione," another, more self-assured, voice takes over . "Mind if we take you up on that invitation of yours and crash at your place for a couple of days?" Snape jumps on the couch. "Haven't seen you in ages, it'll be fun!" Snape frowns and grinds his teeth. "We'll try not to bother your… well, you know. We'll give you another buzz later!" Followed by a short laugh and beeping.

Snape takes a large gulp of his drink, tiptoes over to the phone and hovers above it, clearly intending to erase the recording, but evidently with only a vague idea of how to accomplish this. Suddenly, the phone starts ringing again, but this time it's The Doors' "Light My Fire." Still frowning, he picks up.

"Severus Snape speaking…" and then visibly relaxes. "Oh, it's you, sweetie… hang on just a second…" almost cooing, he pulls the phone to the couch where he stretches out with his feet flung over the armrest, still without having taken off his rather muddy boots. "Yes, just now… oh well, nothing special, pottering around… What secrets, come on… (deep velvety laughter) just lying on the couch, drinking eggnog... What am I doing? Tonight? Everything! (satisfied chuckling)... Oh. Oh. I see. But of course, in this weather, your shoes might get wet, your hair might go frizzy, Merlin forbid... Sarcasm? Me? You're hearing things... What? A request? I'm listening," he unconsciously sits up a bit.

The screen divides diagonally into two parts: In the right one, we see Lucius Malfoy; in the background, the dimly-lit pompous surroundings of an ancient castle. He is sitting by the fire, wrapped snugly in someone's fur.

"Well, it's about Draco again… Sev, what can I say, I'm on a verge of giving up."

"Let me see… I've been hearing that… for how many years now?"

"Oh, please, don't jab at my wounds... First, he's killing time in Oxford, then in Harvard, and all for…"

"Leave the child alone."

"Oh, you're just like Narcy! I mean, I know why he's acting like this: Lost generation, absence of ideals, chemicals instead of good old herbs… (Snape snorts understandingly.) But one has to come to one's senses sooner or later! I wouldn't mind normally, but in our present situation… (Behind his arm-chair, the viewer can see mildewy blotches on the wall), I'm can no longer pay his debts, and he simply will not get it!"

"Am I to conclude that "Smith&Wesson" turned out to be a fiasco?"

"Not quite, that's why I'm calling. They (wrinkles his nose, under his breath: "I'd gladly avada the lot of them!") they agreed to take him, but ... only with a trial period."

"Well, in that case what's the ...?" suddenly there is a ringing at Snape's door. "Sorry, Luc', must go, the door's being replaced…"

"I'm begging you, Sev, don't hang up!"

Sighing, Snape goes to the door with the receiver propped to his ear, opens it, and silently indicates to the two workers who are evidently here not for the first time, that they can start. Then he returns to the couch.

"Dammit, he must put his best foot forward! He must at the very least understand something of what he's going to do there. He quite simply must be on time, for Merlin's sake, this rrrr…… Sev, I know, I'm asking for a great deal here, but you are the only one he listens to. His mother has been under his spell since he was a baby, me… well… he's learned to circumvent me, too… And you were always an authority figure for him, weren't you?"

"You're not saying that you want dump him in my lap…"

"Exactly! If only for a couple of weeks! Sev, when did I last beg you for something!"

"Well, just a day ago… (aside) Thank you, send the bill as usual." A wand appears out of thin air, and he points it at the door.

"Sev, he's really a decent, well-behaved child underneath it all. Moreover, he's absolutely perfect when in your presence. My goodness, you'll hardly notice him at all, especially considering with WHOM you are living right now!"

(tenderly)"You old bigot!"

"Eh?.. Who's "old"?… Sev, do it for me… Do it for a dinner at the Runes… For a dinner at the Runes every Friday and a weekend on the Riviera… And those six volumes of Paracelsus or what was his name…and…"

There is a noise at Snape's door: a struggle with keys and a muffled: "Alohomora, dear door, I hope you weren't slammed before... Hey, not again!"

"Sev, he'll be in town tomorrow, you could at least talk to him, love!" and the split screen vanishes.

"Luc', wait," for a time, Snape keeps staring raptly at the silent receiver, sipping his drink and not paying attention to the struggle at the door. Then he sighs and waves his wand in its direction. The door is blasted open under the weight of Hermione, who just manages to keep her balance and not drop a huge bunch of roses.

"Dammit, doc, I've had enough of it, really!"

"So have I," icily.

"Didn't we decide that I should be the one to enchant the door?"

"We! Besides, these are not spells but an insult to my psyche."

"Nevertheless, it is completely unnecessary to replace the door every time! Well, yes, my enchantments are indeed theoretically unbreakable, but we could find a compromise… Oh well, who am I talking to…" she snorts, and goes to the kitchen, casting a displeased sideways look at his shoes on the armrest.

" And still, I insist on being the one to enchant the door. After your lock nearly took my finger off!…"

"Tsk-tsk-tsk, only nearly?"

Hermione furiously unwraps the roses, jams them into a vase, but then becomes unexpectedly content at the sight of their beauty. She turns around, looks for a place to put them, and finally puts the vase on a side table near the couch, and hence, near Snape. He merely raises an eyebrow.

She drops on the couch beside him, breathes in the aroma of the roses and sighs like someone who is eager to answer your questions even if you were not going to ask them. The raised brow is enough. She tries to control her exuberance.

"He walked me back to 'The Cauldron.'"

(grimly) "What a bastard, could've at least brought you home".

"Well, he had to be in Northumberland at eight, he's giving a lecture on… (dreamily) Transphoquasiparaology…"

"Oh yes, sounds familiar…"

"Don't remind me. No, this time I have a good feeling. (Tries to persuade herself) Definitely. He's just too shy, for some reason especially in my presence"

Snape snorts into his mug and even gags on his eggnog.

"It's not as if I were that frightening! And I try so hard to look dumber than I am!" she bats her eyes, mouth slightly opened. "Oh really? How vvvery interesting, never heard this before, my goodness!" she waves her hand. "Oh, well, doesn't matter, if it doesn't work out, it'll be less trouble anyway… Someone's called?"

While Snape is about to reply, there is a loud ringing at the door.

"Well, yes, I just wanted to…"

But Hermione runs to the door without listening and shrieks excitedly at the sight of a grinning H. Potter at the threshold. Snape jumps from his place, moves towards the corridor, but then pulls himself together and turns to the kitchen where he refreshes his mug with a huge portion of pure firewhisky.

For a couple of minutes, Hermione and Harry hang on to one another, yelling joyfully etc.

"Say, haven't you got our message? On the machine?"

"No, I've just come home… did you say 'our'?"

"Well, yeah. I apparated as usual, and Ron should be here in a moment… you don't have an elevator, do you?"

At this moment Ron enters and receives his share of hugs and kisses.

Snape, out of the kitchen:

"Weasley, another failed apparition examination? How many does that make?"

Ron pouts, but Harry cheerfully claps him on his shoulder:

"Doesn't matter, it's better for his muscles! In fact, I reckon all these magic conveniences serve to weaken one's physical condition! And as they say: healthy body – healthy spirit!"

"It's either or," Hermione and Snape say simultaneously, but Harry isn't discouraged.

"Oh, good evening, professor!" Ron joins him; Snape utters something indistinct. Ron turns to Hermione:

"So, Hermie, is it all right for us to stay? A couple of days, better than that empty house, and…you know…"

"Oh. Uh. Uh, certainly, no problem! We have two guest rooms, would you prefer staying together or separately?"

While Ron and Harry are still too embarrassed to answer, Snape says rather vengefully:

"Together."

The boys redden. Ron whispers to Harry: "I bet he's reading thoughts again!"

Snape, calmly:

"Seeing as the second bedroom will be occupied from tomorrow."

Hermione, equally calmly:

"Now that's news. And by whom, may I ask?"

"By Mr. Malfoy-ju…"

"Again! No, no way! No, doc, pardon me, professor, that's crossing the line, honestly, just… just… Over my dead body! No, what am I saying? Over YOUR dead body! Are you serious! After the last time! Did you forget what he did here, that bloody aristocratic piece of sh…" she is unstoppable. Snape remains quite calm, and the boys open their mouths. "D— Professor, I can see your point, feelings, blah-blah, but I have my rights in this place, too, and so I repeat, NO; and may I remind you that last time, he and I nearly Avada-ed each other, and if you hadn't interefered, it would've been me heading to Azkaban, that's right, me and _not_ him, excuse my bluntness, but he's long overdue at the family crypt and so, last time you solemnly _swore_ to me that he'll never set his foot in this house again, and if he does, then…" she stops to take a breath, and Snape takes advantage of the moment:

"Will be occupied by Mr. Malfoy, Jr. _Draco_ Malfoy."

Silence.

Harry is now wondering whether to make a similar scene, but thinks better of it given his own tenuous position as a houseguest. Hermione catches her breath.

"Oh well. That's OK, I guess..." Suddenly, she stops and gives Snape a probing look, then raises her eyebrows quizzically and pretends that she's trying to conceal an understanding smile. Snape is irritated.

"Mr Malfoy starts a new job at Smith&Wesson Solicitors and will stay here for a while. And I would thank you to spare me all further questions and speculations. Good night," he turns and leaves for his room down the corridor.

Ron and Harry can finally relax. Hermione gives each of them a beer out of the fridge, and they all drop on the couch or straight onto some cushions on the floor. Ron can no longer contain himself:

"Hermie, how come you're living like this!"

First, she pretends not to understand and then shrugs:

"It just happened. For many reasons. Rent in London is horribly expensive. Never mind that, guys, tell me about quidditch! How on earth could you lose to the Spanish!"

Harry and Ron explode with emotions.

(P.S. The Runes is apparently a magic counterpart to the Rules – the oldest London restaurant. ;))

CUT

Next day. Same room.

Hermione is engrossed in cooking something indescribable. There's a rattle of the keys at the door.

"It's open!" she calls as Snape enters. "I just thought, well, this place is a public thoroughfare for now anyway, so to hell with the charms."

"There IS such a thing as security."

"Well, considering we're already having one of the Malfoys stay here, who else is there to be afraid of? All right, all right, go ahead and put your charm on the door if it means so much to you. With a bit of luck, it will bite something off Malfoy … Did my owl find you?"

By way of answer, Snape produces a plastic box as though out of thin air. "Is this it?"

"You're a saviour! The guys just adore this brand." noticing his reaction: "No, no, I won't tell them." Chuckling, in an artificial voice. "Oh booooys, kind Uncle Snape bought you some ice-cream… They'll choke. Hey!" just as Snape snaps a delicious piece of something like a sausage out of the pot, and leaves the scene.

Presently, the front door which wasn't closed properly slowly begins to open. Hermione raises her head.

"So who's there knocking on my door? Or rather, not knocking? Not very polite, my friend, what if I was hopping around here buck naked?" she is sure it is either Potter or Weasley.

"You know, Granger, you are quite right, the shock would be too much for me."

If Hermione is startled, it is only for an instant.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Solicitor in person, what an honor. Gee, that reminds me to sell my "Smith&Wesson" shares as soon as possible, just in case…

"It so happens that they are Ltd., but that is apparently beyond your all-knowingness."

"Well, I am glad that yours is making such progress," Hermione's friendly tone hints at Draco's "progress" that Snape has already told her about. Draco feels the venom and makes a face..

"And I am glad to be received in such a hospitable house. A muggle servant cannot be compared with a house-elf, of course, but the smell is quite satisfactory. You're also making progress, Granger."

"Mister Malfoy, if your daddy hasn't yet told you how his own visit to this 'hospitable house' ended, I suggest you ask him all about it before making such thoughtless remarks," – she cracks her knuckles with relish, producing a shower of ominously hissing sparks.

"Granger, Granger, where is your British wit?"

"Still here, don't worry - just as your freshly acquired American arrogance, Malfoy. On the other hand, you were known for it long before Harvard..."

Draco is getting ready for an equally venomous answer, but is interrupted by Harry and Ron – who also come in without ringing or knocking.

"Here comes backup, Granger, it's your lucky day. Never mind, your luck won't hold forever."

"Not that I need 'backup' but, for your information, Harry and Ron are as much the guests of My Hospitable House, as you are. Your room is to the right. Dinner is served at eight. Now, here you cook – and this goes for all of you! - either each for yourself or in turns. Today is my turn, and then we'll go alphabetically - **M**alfoy," giving him a broad toothy smile.

CUT.

Postscript to the episode:

Everybody is politely sitting at the table, each staring in his/her plate, obviously afraid to start eating. Finally, Snape takes the first bite. After having thoughtfully chewed it, he says:

"That'll do, Draco, that'll do..." Malfoy grins proudly. "But do me a favour and order at O'Donovan's next time, their cuisine is better than at the Little Broomstick."

Draco reddens, Ron snorts while starting to eat:

"See, Malfoy, good thing we talked you out of McDonald's..."


	2. Friday, the 13th

**1. Friday, the 13th**

Subtitles: "Thursday, the 12th"

The same living-room, Potter is home alone. He is lying on the floor with a TV-Guide, occasionally looking around in search of a TV, each time sighing and reprovingly shaking his head. The phone is ringing; the tune is Light My Fire. Potter likes the song, and even starts to hum along as he jumps up to get the phone. For a split second, he is unsure whether to pick it up at all, but then takes the receiver and mutters something like "Ehm?".

The screen splits. Lucius, drawling his vowels:

"So, Puss, what about Friday?" Potter is so taken aback by "Puss" that he only manages to repeat his previous sound.

"No, no, and I will not accept any excuses, nonsense about getting your feet wet and such, I've already booked us a table, in the Runes at 7:30 p.m., and all right, I will be waiting at the entrance, just as you like it... What in Merlin's name are you doing there, you bloody oaf of an elf, you! (We see a miserable-looking house-elf on the background, trying to clean a portrait with "Fairy" spray.) ... Sorry, Puss, these constant problems with the domestics, I must hang up... Don't be late, love!" the screen returns to normal.

Potter stands stock-still. Then he starts grinning rather stupidly.

CUT

The door opens, enter Snape and Draco deep in conversation. Draco:

"But Prof, you know they're all idiots there, and besides, it's easy to get around any law-codex, you just have to grease the palm of the right person, and it so happens that I've already found out who that person is."

"First of all, spare me your professional slang. Secondly, in order to get around any law-codex, you must know not only whose palm to grease, but this law-codex in the first place, that is why you will immediately go to your room and study."

(whinging) "But the lights are bad there... and one of the portraits won't shut up..."

"No "buts" please. Take up the whole living-room if you like, that's even better: we can see if you're working or slacking off... Any calls?" (to Harry)

"N-no... only for Hermie..." Snape turns away.

CUT

Later. Draco under a pile of books, Ron and Harry chat quietly in the other corner.

"Imagine, some loser, and with house-elves too! Wants Hermie, unbelievable."

"Hey, and she told _me_ that she'll be home late tonight, because she has, like, sort of a "date", what the hell is she up to? Well, it's not our business, but the girl's love-life has definitely got tangled... Well, let's tell her about that call and then look into her honest eyes..."

"Right you are."

The door opens, in flies Hermione with another huge bunch of flowers. Harry starts in a mysterious whisper: "Hermie, you know, you've got a call here..."

Suddenly the phone rings – this time it's Material Girl. Hermione rushes to the receiver.

"Yes, Granger. Ah, it's you... missing me already? (cooing) Tomorrow? No, you're crazy, tomorrow I've got a colloquium... Well, if I were a student, that wouldn't be a problem, but unfortunately I happen to be a teacher... Right, listen, I'll check my schedule and call you back, OK? Mmmchuawww!" (this is supposed to be a kiss – which makes Draco shudder)

(hanging up) "By the way, boys, this concerns everyone, so listen: When it rings "Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me..." (she does a perfect imitation of Madonna's nasal tone), - that's for me; and when "You know that it would be untrue, you know that I would be a liar" – that's for doc... Snape. If you behave yourselves, I'll make separate ringtones for you, too," she winks and goes to arrange the flowers.

Harry punches Ron in the side. Ron, in a whisper: "What?" "Ron, it was Light My Fire, I know for sure!" Ron's eyes widen: " Whoa, Snape! What do we do now?" Harry points with his eyes at still-purring Hermione and Draco who is immersed in his writing, and nods towards their room.

CUT

Subtitles: "Friday, the 13th; 7:15 p.m."

The scene is almost the same: Hermione is absent, but Draco is still as deep in his textbooks as before, although now he's also got a laptop and a pocket scanner. Harry is ready to leave, he and Ron are whispering at the door.

"I still don't like it somehow... It's not nice."

"Yeah, I know it's mean, but I just can't stop, Ron, and you know me..."

"Your brakes fail, I know," Ron gently pats his hair. "It's just, as Hermie would put it, 'unethical'".

"I just didn't get a chance to tell him, you know that! He was already gone at breakfast..."

"How about an owl?"

"And what about an owl, Ron? What on earth could I have written to him? (his temper raises with his voice; Draco frowns and puts on his headphones, very displeased) "Dear Professor Snape, there is a guy there, he invites you to... blah-blah, don't be late, luv"!" Ron chuckles. "Oh well, he'll miss his date once, so what? I'll just go look who he is and be right back. All right, it may be improper, but my inner voice has never let me down yet..."

"Would that be a former auror's seventh sense? Or is it a pain in your scar?" Ron openly teases him.

"Call it what you like, I'm out of here."

"Wait, let's go out together. I'll just go chase the Quaffle for a bit, anything is better than staying here with that ..." with a sidelong glance at Draco, he puts on his scarf. They go out.

"With _that_," Draco mocks him without taking off his headphones. Then he takes a piece of parchment and a quill, and starts to scribble thoughtfully...

CUT

Subtitles: «7:20 - :25 - :30 - :35 - :40 - :45 - :50 - :55...»

An intersection near the Runes. Black ice, wind, absolutely disgusting weather. A half-frozen Harry is waiting on the other side of the intersection and, for want of something else to look at, is staring at a porter by the entrance, obviously unsure whether to risk going inside or not. Finally, he decides at least to cross the street, obediently waits for the green light, gets hold of the handrail – the steps down to the road are slippery – steps out onto the road, and naturally slips anyway,... right under the wheels of some crazy driver running a red light. Everything swirls, high-pitched music, brakes, but before Harry manages to disapparate or even fly back a bit, he's being caught and jerked backwards by the scruff of his coat.

"Tired of life?" a rather disdainful voice.

"Phew, thanks... thanks a lot. I think you sort of... saved my life there..."

"Indeed. Oh nooo..." His saviour looks utterly disappointed: as if fate had given him one perfect chance, and he destroyed everything with his own hands. Which does not surprise Harry one bit, because the person in front of him is none other than his long-time foe L. Malfoy.

Harry jumps back and nearly slips again.

"Oh no, Potter, there will be no second time, and were I more attentive, there wouldn't have been a first. Incidentally, you're now in my debt."

"I'll pay you back, never fear," replies Harry coldly, but suddenly is nudged by his conscience. He nods at the Runes. "For now, how about dinner?" even Potter can be magnanimous after nearly having met his death.

Malfoy is surprised. First, he wants to say something contemptuous, but then looks at his watch, gives a sort of disappointed snort and murmurs "Why not, actually". At this moment Harry finally grasps the truth, but it's too late to retreat, and so they go to the Runes.

CUT

Snape comes out of a muggle-looking edifice, waves his hand at someone, lights a cigarette… (tsk tsk, this is definitely not a US sitcom). All of a sudden, a tiny owl lands on his shoulder; he raises his brow, and takes the tiny roll of parchment. The owl flies away. Snape deciphers the scrawl, muttering through his teeth in the light of his cigarette: "Dad wanted to meet you, I reckon... (snow-flakes)... at the Runes... usual time... forgot to tell you at breakf..." He hmpfs, looks at his watch and throws away the cigarette.

CUT

Runes. It's warm, cozy and the food is delicious. Appropriate music.

"You see, Potter, you have at least managed to achieve something! All right, it isn't politics, but still – a Seeker in the national team... Well, that faux pas with Spaniards, that was really... I suppose, we shall never get The Cup now..."

"Well, if Spain loses to the Poles..."

"Don't make me laugh. No chance. What Poles, what kind of a people is that, anyway? (sipping at his red wine). And yet, Potter, all the same, you have at least made something of yourself... and not merely that lone ranger you kept playing at. And look at him? Not only is he lazy as a sloth, it doesn't bother him in the slightest!"

"No, really, he studies hard, I've seen it... and at the breakfast table, you should see him:" -Harry is generosity itself - "all class, suspenders and striped ties and crisp shirts, the perfect lawyer" Lucius enjoys hearing it. "He just needs time. And a nice girl, or whatever, you know... That keeps you in form, anyway."

"That does sharpen one's self-discipline, certainly," Lucius nods, and they wait while the sommelier is pouring more wine.

"... Yes, Potter, looking at you... my goodness, how much bad blood there was between us... And all those fights we had... They just kept throwing us together, in forests and valleys..."

"Mm-hmm. (chewing)... remember that one in the Ministry?"

"Oh, that's unforgettable! All those damned glass balls shattering, what a sight! And how many complaints we had afterwards, in the vein of, you morons, give me back my Prophecy... Thank Merlin I was not the one who had to deal with them... Or not... depends on how you see it...

Harry remembers Lucius' Azkaban period and nods sympathetically.

"Whenever I start remembering, I always feel so old..." (they laugh together)

"Come on, Potter! If you say that, what does that make me?"

"A son of a bitch," a distinct voice from above.

Potter and Malfoy slowly raise their heads towards the towering black wall of indignation beside the table. After a short silence Potter is the first one to pull himself together:

"Professor, it's not what you think it is, it was a coincidence, I can expl..." but Snape only pants angrily, pressing his lips and staring at Lucius. In the meantime, Lucius also manages to come to his senses.

"That'll teach you punctuality, you old serpent," – with an acid smile. "See: you come a bit too late, and miss the generation change!"

Harry is indignant:

"Don't listen to him, Professor!"

"Potter, go away ," through his teeth.

"Of course, he'll stay, Sev (aside: "after all, he's paying for my dinner"). Harry, sit down and stop fussing. Sev; I simply cannot understand you. Free love in a free country, - were these not your words?" he evidently basks in the situation, but Snape isn't going to share his elation. He throws them a final lightning-bolt stare (the tablecloth starts smoking slightly), turns around and leaves. Harry feels desperately embarrassed, but Lucius is patting him on his shoulder.

"Don't take it to heart, I'll talk to him, it's nothing new... How about some cheese? Ice-cream?"

CUT

Subtitles: «21:54»

The kitchen. Snape sits on a barstool and absentmindedly stirs something definitely alcoholic in the cauldron. The door opens reluctantly, and in comes Harry, tip-toeing. Seeing Snape, and having made sure that Snape has seen him, resolutely walks to the kitchen. Snape, menacingly:

"Potter..."

"Sir, I won't leave until I've said what I have to say," he speaks very fast. "It was a mean thing to do, although actually I'd thought, he was supposed to be meeting Hermie (notices a slight horror in Snape's eyes and catches himself)... anyway, it really doesn't matter at all, the main thing is that I had absolutely not intention of getting between you and Malfoy, it was a mere coincidence, and besides, he saved my life, absolutely by accident.. and... and... and... Sir, I know how it feels to someone you love..." (Harry definitely overdoes the pathos, and Snape twists his nose: "If he says 'absolutely' just one more time; I'll...") "No, it's true! To lose, and not to have... at all... It's absolutely... terrible, I completely sympathise, I myself, for so many years... well, anyway..." At this point, Snape begins looking at him carefully, while Harry is practically eating him with his eyes.

"Potter," quietly says Snape, getting up. "The world doesn't revolve around Lucius..."

At this very moment... Draco comes out of his room. ("Dammit." This is not an author's note, but rather a semiconscious feeling shared by both.) Snape and Harry look at him.

"Professor... I'm not interrupting?"

Harry turns back and goes to his room.

Draco goes inside the kitchen, sniffs at the steam from the cauldron, puts a finger into the brew and slowly licks it off with great pleasure (Here the audience should make an understanding Ahhhh...).

"You had a fight," he remarks.

Snape raises a brow.

"Mom told me." The second brow goes up. "Oh, you know her, she senses these things: 'Came home early, surly... come on, Draco,' she tells me, 'reconcile them, or, if his yang is unbalanced, then yin gets unbalanced too," or was it the other way around?" Snape rolls his eyes. "Or, says she, get Sev to come over, and we'll remember those good old days, you know, the three of us is next to nothing, of course, but..." Snape swiftly gags him with a spoonful of the beverage. "Mmmm... (licking his lips) so here I am... to reconcile..." moves closer to Snape, Snape moves towards him... and suddenly...

"Ouch! Let go!..." Snape firmly holds him by his ear.

"You knew about Potter in the Runes, didn't you, you scum?"

"No, no, I swear by my mother..."

"Don't yell, you'll scare people."

"Then let go of my ear... ouuuuchhh... yes, yes, I knew, just let me _go_..." now Snape grabs him by the collar, and Draco whines aside, "no, S&M is definitely not my thing..."

"Now then, you little bugger..."

Just at this moment, the two doors open: the one – because of the noise, revealing Potter and a sleepy Weasley; the other, the front door – with Lucius. Snape immediately lets Draco go, but too late, and so for a couple of seconds there is a complex but silent exchange of glances, which Ron observes with curiosity from the sidelines. First, Lucius and Draco look at each other (derisive smirk – derisive stubbornness), as do Potter and Snape (surprise with a bit of suspicion – surprise with a tiny bit of guilt mixed in). Then the glances switch, while Snape tries hard not to utter the infamous "it's not what you think it is", Draco and Harry silently stare daggers at each other; Snape and Malfoy are first full of disdain, then gradually they begin to smile. First this is a sarcastic "What could I have expected?" smirk, which broadens into a shared "old buddies" grin. The silent war threatens to become an idyll, when suddenly Hermione appears out of her room.

"Who was shouting?" The pencil behind one ear and her absentminded glance point to a recent immersion in hard science. Suddenly she sniffs the air.

"That cologne..." now she's growling. "I'd know it anywhere..." she turns, sees Malfoy Sr. and starts taking breath for an explosion à la Sirius Black's mommy and, what is most striking! – her messed-up hair starts moving and turns into writhing snakes (two of which immediately attack the pencil).

Shocked back into anger, Lucius darts a glance to Snape, reads on his lips a clear "Run for your life!", weighs up his chances for a split second, then rushes out to disapparate with a loud bang behind the door (almost like in Hogwarts – it is not polite to dis-/apparate right from the living-room here).

Hermione is slightly disappointed. Harry and Ron are still petrified at the sight of her locks, but Draco is enchanted:

"Well, Granger, mud... muggleborn, as you are (after a light poke from Snape), you most certainly had real Furies in your ancestry, congratulations!

Hermione shakes her snakes, which immediately turn to hair again.

"No, Malfoy," she says with dignity. "This is an acquired asset. Good night."

CUT

Postscript:

Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the phone. Hermione:

"OK then, how about this one?" She taps the buttons, and one can hear Bohemian Rhapsody: "I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me..."

Harry, categorically:

"No, this won't do either." Hermione glances at Ron, just as song continues: "He's just a poor boy from a poor family...". Ron resolutely shakes his head as well. Hermione exasperatedly rolls her eyes, at which her hair begins to move slightly.

"On second thoughts," contemplates Harry. Ron nods quickly: "It's great, we'll take it."


	3. Auntie Weasley

**2. Auntie Weasley  
**  
An early morning. Ron is busy in the kitchen, humming under his breath. His mother's school of Good Cooking is evident from the first glance: something is hissing in the frying pans, slices of French toast are cheerfully jumping out of milk into whisked eggs, or wherever it is they have to jump, the tea is brewing, piping hot pancakes are hopping onto one another to form a miniature leaning tower of Pisa. Ron pours maple syrup on them, simultaneously stirring coffee in a Turkish pot...

Just-out-of-bed Snape appears from the corridor: an impeccable dark-green silk dressing gown wrapped tightly makes the audience utter a quiet ?aahhh?. He yawns and starts sniffing.

"Is it how you fry bacon, Weasley? I would haved rather called it an attempt to burn down my kitchen," he sits down at the table and unfolds a newspaper. Ron frowns slightly, then clicks his fingers, whereupon the contents of the coffee-pot pour themselves into a cup which flies over the counter and puts itself at Snape's elbow with a displeased tremolo. Snape merely gives it a glance, and it moves around and takes a less dangerous position within his reach. After a short while, he takes a tentative sip.

"Hmm..." it is definitely a friendly "hmm", "although I do prefer it alla napolitana..."

Ron swallows this and merely asks:

"Do you want your eggs with bacon or with sausage?"

(after a short contrived contemplation) "I'd like an omelette", with an air of "and what would you to say to this?")

Ron shrugs - which makes an egg mixture in a bowl start whisking by itself, puts a smaller pan on a stove and starts counting methodically:

"With bacon, ham, sausage, ground beef, anchovies, mussels, crabmeat, tuna, corn, tomatoes, avocado, rice, mushrooms, or chicory?"

This time, Snape's contemplation is not contrived: he is actually slightly at a loss. To order his dreamt-of "cheese and onions" after such a list would clearly lack solidity. But even if he'd added the most part of the list to it, it would look like a defeat. Accidentally, but luckily, his glance falls on an advertisement section of the newspaper: "Try El Chico's Cuisine - The Inimitable Taste of Mexico, blah-blah..."

(firmly, but nonchalantly) "With beans and jalopenos. On toast."

Ron nods approvingly, starts shaking peppers and beans, which have mysteriously appeared, in the pan, tosses them in the air a couple of times almost juggling the pan (the film now runs on a slight fast-forward), pours eggs on them and leaves the omelette to get done to put freshly fried toasts on a plate (Out of which follows: 1. The author was definitely hungry while writing this episode; 2. Girls, grab Ron, he's a real treasure!) He flips the omelette in the air so that it makes a double turn, fries it a bit more, shakes cheese and green onions onto the top, and sends it to the plate.

"Some salsa?" Snape flinches -- my goodness, salsa for breakfast, what kind of stomach you need...

"On the side," and he cautiously takes a bite. It must be conceded (silently) that the omelette is fabulous. And then he tries Ron's French toast. Snape closes his eyes and thinks that a man with weaker nerves would have wept with tears of joy. His heart starts melting.

"Weasley... what do you actually do in Quidditch?" it is a rhetorical question, but Ron understands it literally.

"I'm a Keeper, why?"

"It is definitely not your true vocation."

Snape can make even a compliment sound like an insult, and it is not a surprise that Ron is now seriously offended.

"I would have never missed that last one, if not that bludger, and it was a foul!" with righteous indignation.

"Well, foul or not, it was your own team serving... What are we... you on about? Weasley, the substance of my previous comment was that had you chosen cooking as your profession, you would have brought much more... even more use to mankind than as a Quidditch Keeper."

Ron needs some time to figure out that it was a compliment, but after a couple of seconds he finally brightens in a broad smile - Snape wouldn't notice behind his paper anyway.

Enters Hermione: also sleepy, but, except for that, a total opposite to Snape: furry slippers adorned with lion heads; baggy, terry-towelling dressing gown (in Gryffindor colors, naturally); its belt keeps coming loose dangerously... She greets Ron and stretches her hand towards Snape's paper. Without looking up, Snape, with a familiar gesture, fishes out the Arts and Literature sections. As he hands them to her she tries to snatch Science as well , but gets a rap on her knuckles. She tries to join Ron at the kitchen counter, but he waves her to sit down.

"All right, then I would like a cup of tea and muesli with yoghurt." 

Ron sighs:  
(without much hope) "And how about some pancakes?"

(magnanimously) "Oh well, a tiny little bit."

"Or waffles?"

"...Um, okay, but just one."

"You know, eggs contain, errr, protein, it's good for you..."

"Do you have soft-boiled? Oh Ron, then... maybe I'll skip muesli after all. And throw in some toast, okay?" with a side-glance at Snape "A bit more, so that it'll be enough for two..."

CUT

The same breakfast, but now everybody is present: some stuffing their mouths full, some sniffing distrustfully at smoked salmon... Snape obviously didn't restrained himself with two slices of toast and is now seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. He sighs almost benevolently.

"Today, Weasley, as an exception, you can ask me whatever you want..." the rest nods in agreement, even Draco who finally came to terms with the salmon.

And just in this very minute an owl flies through the window and perches on Ron's shoulder. He takes a letter, unfolds it, reads and goes pale.

"Ron?" he silently hands the letter to Harry who reads it together with Hermione.

Harry:  
"Oh no, not the Aunt..."

Hermione:  
"Well, and so what's the big deal, an aunt -- which one is this? Take her for a stroll around town, we'll throw a nice little dinner party, no problem... Oh, she'll be staying at the Ritz, not bad..."

Ron:  
"Exactly," answering the questioning glances in a mournful voice, "Auntie is a very serious matter."

Harry explains the situation:

"This Aunt is their only rich relative. (Quiet snorts from Snape and Draco) In short, we're talking millions of galleons -- and a title (Draco doesn't snort anymore). Every Weasley branch tries to get Auntie on their side, but she's capricious and rewrites her will eight days a week. Ron's family is in bad graces anyway - because of Fred and George... and Ginny, of course, but Auntie just adores Ron."

"And the problem is...?"

"Auntie is a dyed-in-the-wool traditionalist. Well, sort of ... Tory," almost everyone is at a loss. "Well, and because Ron happens to be her current favorite, she constantly wants to know how he is, you know, a report, what he's doing, where he lives, that sort of thing... (apologetically) And so.. we just didn't ... couldn't bring ourselves to write to her that we're now staying with That Same (meaningfully) Professor Snape who - to make the matter worse er... more complicated... shares his apartment with his former student, to say nothing about... (nods at Draco) in a way that wouldn't shock her..." a tense silence, "... and so we wrote that Ron is currently staying at my house... that is, the Dursleys'... Whom she wants to meet..." he frowns, to Ron: "How about another plague outbreak? Smallpox?" Ron only hopelessly shakes his head.

A dead silence is broken by Snape:

In a lecturing tone: "Now you see, Weasley, where lies will lead you. Especially such poorly planned lies..." he stops under the reproachful glances of everyone except Draco who doesn't understand a bit, then remembers a promise he'd given five minutes ago. His face turns blank and he cautiously starts moving his eyes from one "witness" to another. Ron clears his throat.

"Oh, bugger the millions, it's high time someone opened the old biddy's eyes to reality...

Harry, a bit nastily, but addressing nobody in particular:

"She happens to have a weak heart, though..."

Snape feels the direction of the strike and would never give in were it not for the "lingering smell of Ron's French toast in the air (which the audience obviously can't smell, but can guess from Snape's facial expression).

"Attempting to rid someone that old of their illusions is, on the whole, a rather pointless exercise, Weasley..." suddenly he sounds businesslike: (to a disbelieving Ron) "Does she know what they look like and so on?" Ron shakes his head. "Good, one less problem. Now then, what do we have? A husband, a wife, a grown-up son, is that all?" to Potter, who only nods, taken aback. "Well, I don't see any difficulties. To answer to "Vernon Dursley" one evening long for the sake of your French toast, Weasley, is not the first and most certainly not the worst humiliation of my life. Paris is worth a Mass, isn't it, err, Petunia?" (He makes a heroic effort to keep himself from snorting).

During this speech, Hermione at first can't quite work out where Snape is heading, then as it gradually dawns on her (somewhere around the word "wife") silent horror fills her face and she vigorously shakes her head, then she looks with indignation first at Snape, then at Ron's pleadingly raised brows, and finally reaches a state of quiet stoicism. Hence, her reaction to Snape's question is a professionally sweet smile:

"Of course, it is NOT worth it, dearest, but how can I argue with my oh so deeply beloved husband!"

Harry sniggers, but Ron is still worried:

"I'm sorry, but Hermie definitely looks younger that Malfoy's mom, oops, Dudley's mom, I mean."

"Will someone explain to me..." but Draco is universally ignored.

Hermione smiles smugly, then frowns a bit, and then... to everybody's "Ahhh..." starts gently transforming: her hair gathers into a short perm, a wrinkle appears on her forehead, eyebrows shape itself into thin lines, her skin - especially on her neck and hands - fades slightly, her nails spontaneously acquire a manicure... and suddenly she is a well-preserved woman of an indefinite age. Another dead silence is once again broken by Snape:

"I hope, you are satisfied with MY age, Weasley?"

Although satisfied with Snape's age, Ron is still a bit concerned about his slightly bohemian appearance, but he doesn't know the word "bohemian", and so only nods.

"What else?" Snape looks around. "More or less muggle-like surroundings... Oh right, we need a closet under the stairs." He explains coolly: "For Potter."

"Dearest, he doesn't sleep in a closet anymore," coos "Petunia" reproachfully.

"What a pity." Snape turns to Draco; tenderly. "And now let's see what we can do with you, Duddydums..."

CUT

The evening. The dining room is unrecognizable. The couches have been moved to the walls, most of the bookcases are filled with china, the portraits have been turned to still-lives, and the center of the room is dominated by a huge dinner table with a heavy tablecloth. A proper dinner: polished silverware, china, exquisite food on which almost everyone present apparently is currently choking. But choking quietly. It is time for dessert and sherry - and for a small-talk. Ron's Auntie, far from being a frail old crone, turns out to be a flourishing elderly lady with a somewhat arrogant bearing.

"... And nevertheless, Mr. Dursley (at each "Mr. Dursley" Snape inconspicuously twists his mouth), I confess myself somewhat surprised that you prefer this city apartment to a country mansion. Being a family man, as you are... (everyone's noses seem to be drowned in their plates) Besides, London air is notorious for its life-threatening fumes, as you will certainly agree. Although I am told that muggle bodies seem to be more adapted to it, and we, wizards, have a more delicate constitution in this respect...

"Most certainly, Madam," Snape recognizes that it will be the best to leave all the talking to the Aunt. "However, keeping a house is also not an easy matter, as I can imagine..."

"Oh, you are so right. Especially now, when decent house-elves are so hard to get," Hermione manages to restrain herself from a satisfied snort. "My goodness, they actually have the temerity to demand wages, can you imagine? Although, they say, this is quite the norm with muggles."

"Quite right, Madam," Snape is a natural-born society man - who could have thought? A propos, he is wearing a dinner jacket, his hair is decently tucked behind his ears. He still manages to look slightly bohemian, but who knows what those muggles are like?

"The only thing worse is the youth of today! No decency whatsoever, I do not mean you, Ronny darling, but take for instance his brothers! To say nothing of his sister - just imagine what they'd say in our days about a girl living with her fianc頢efore the wedding...! (Harry to Ron: "That seems to be rather out-of-date information, doesn't it? I thought Ginny..." Ron just hushes him up.) Would you not agree, my dear Mrs. Dursley?"

"Mrs. Dursley" is clearly not happy with the way the old lady unites the times of their youth as "ours", but she keeps up the charade:

"Certainly, Madam. I, for instance, lived with a girlfriend during my college years. (Everybody's faces, except the Aunt's, assume a mysterious expression.) No men were allowed in our boarding house."

"You see! And this isn't even the worst of it!.. But I am so happy that Ronny at least is far away from all that depravity. Of course (she is suddenly sly), I would be even happier if he were to favour us with a new generation of little redheads in the near future... (Here Draco excuses himself, leaves the table, and almost runs in the direction of a bathroom, from where he emerges after a minute, wiping a tear from his eye. The rest watches him with a silent envy and firmly sealed lips.) ... But I understand that for the time being his career must come first. Especially now, Ron, after such a shameful, humiliating defeat at the hands of those... Mediterraneans. And to think that before that they lost to those frog-eaters, worse than which are only those odious Krauts. Unconscionable. (Ron and Harry are starting to fill with silent fury.) But I know, my darling, that you and Harry practice day and night..." they both nod with dignity, and Draco tries to stand up again, but remains seated under Snape's glance. "Your Auntie has faith in you!" Draco's movement catches her eye, "And what is your son doing, my dear?"

"Dr? Dudley works at a law office, and I must say, we won't be surprised if he's offered a partnership soon, he is showing so much promise," with barely concealed maternal pride.

"Oh, Mommy..." Draco is all modesty.

"He just doesn't like being praised, do you, Sunshine?"

"How nice that you can be proud of your son, my dear! Indeed, it is a pity that he is your only child, in my opinion, the more the better, and had it not been for Lord Weasley's untimely demise... But on the other hand, it is not too late for you to think about such matters, is it? Naturally, muggles age faster than wizards, but still, looking at you...

Snape, calmly:

"Nothing is impossible, Madam. Besides, I long ago became accustomed to regarding myself as the father of two children. Harry is definitely more than a nephew to me." (Potter blushes.)

"Well, indeed! And although Harry's noble deeds didn't concern you personally, you can be as proud of him as you are of your own son. Of course, we all heard that (slyly) he was quite a handful in his teens, which is not surprising considering his burden of responsibility, children shouldn't be confronted with such horrors, in my opinion... But as muggles you must have had a few difficulties with him from time to time, did you not?" with a charming laughter.

Snape nods, this time absolutely sincerely.

"Well, what I can say... Dudlikins was not an easy child either. Boys will be boys," Petunia pronounces this as a deep and original thought. "You will not believe it, but he suffered from chronic obesity until he hit puberty."

"You don't say!" (Which is also Draco's silent reaction.)

"Oh yes, and what is more..." happily begins Hermione, but suddenly the door opens (It is to be reminded that nobody has bothered to enchant the door ever since the last debacle), and in comes Lucius, accompanied by the audience's cheering, which he responds to with a benevolent nod.

He is mildly surprised to see the changes in the living-room, but doesn't pay attention to everybody's flabbergasted state and immediately goes up to Draco.

"And who, may I ask, have I been waiting for in Kingston for over an hour! He's here drinking, and meanwhile the horses are freezing, for your information! Merlin, you look more horrible today than usual, Gr," he suddenly stops as if listening to an inner voice. Snape, without turning his eyes to him, quietly snaps his fingers in Hermione's direction whereupon her hair which has already started slithering returns to its normal state, and in addition to this she suddenly loses her voice, having just started to say something. All this goes unnoticed by Lady Weasley, because she is fully focused on one thing.

"Now, that's... that's unspeakable! Lucius Malfoy! (It sounds like "Adolf Hitler!" in a comparable muggle situation.) You! Here! How dare you even show your face in a decent household - and all the more decent muggle household! (Silenced Hermione has absolutely the same opinion.) In the presence of Ronny! And... and..." she helplessly stares at Draco. He tries to find a suitable facial expression, but cannot figure out which that would be. Snape starts looking at him.

"Me... I... umm, Madam, you see, he is my... he is our..." Draco incredulously looks at Snape, "He is our riding teacher. Harry's and mine, yes. It just happened this way..." turning to his dumbfounded daddy.

Potter must be given due credit: he grasps the situation at once, and so - being officially the only wizard in the family - draws the fire to himself.

"Don't worry, Ma'am, I'll explain everything. As you know, there were massive confiscations after the Victory, after which Malfoys found themselves in a difficult, in fact, I would say, in a very precarious situation. Of course, Mr. Malfoy and I were not on friendly terms. Oh, what am I saying? We were actually deadly enemies, but... You know, Ma'am, it is a matter of honour to an Englishman to be noble to his defeated enemy. So, after I learned that in order to avoid starvation, Mr. Malfoy had to earn his living using his only skills, but had trouble finding customers because of his tainted past, I decided - having consulted Headmaster Dumbledore - to support him this way. Of course, his ways are still not impeccable, but I hope... I hope you'll be as charitable to him as I am.

Everybody save Lucius applaud him mentally. Lady Weasley is deeply touched.

"Let me embrace you, my dear boy," pompously, her voice trembling. ("Well, here we go again," thinks Potter, "I'm settling everybody's problems to get only old folks' sentiments as a reward.")

CUT

Afterword.

Late at night.  
Hermione, in her normal appearance, is using her wand to bring the apartment back to its own normal appearance, at the same time throwing angry glances at Snape. He is sitting in an armchair, sipping at his sherry. The opposite armchair contains the "riding teacher" - temporarily allowed in the apartment by way of compensation for his humiliation. Snape is in a peaceful mood.

"Oh, stop looking at me like that. I didn't have time to choose another spell, and you would have spoiled everything otherwise. (She shakes her head in silent fury.) In any event, I can't break it now, but it will most certainly wear off by itself during the night." At which Lucius only desperately sighs - which is sufficient to infuriate silent Hermione even more.

"Where are you, Petunia, my ideal wife..." purrs Snape sleepily, "And why not - we'd have ourselves a load of sweet babies and all that... If nothing else, common sense is certainly Auntie's strong suit..." 

Hermione probably imagines "sweet babies and all that", because she starts giggling silently, and all of a sudden her laughter becomes audible.

"Oh no-o..." from Lucius.

"Oh yes, I'd completely forgotten about this method," Snape, unperturbed.

"Next time I'll put a cushion under my dress, maybe then she'll leave something to us too," Hermione is still laughing.

"For one thing, next time I will personally spike our food with a strong depressant. And for another - there will be no next time."

P.S. ?Paris is worth a Mass" is Henry IV's utterance upon his conversion to Catholicism as a precondition to his becoming the king of France.  
P.P.S. I'm not sure whether in the English-speaking potterverse the Malfoys ride horses, but they do in Russian.


End file.
